


Sleepless Nights and Secrets Uncovered

by lunaverserocks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Awesome Leia Organa, Dark Leia Organa, Father-Daughter Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Jedi Leia Organa, Leia Organa Deserves Better, Leia Organa Needs a Hug, POV Leia Organa, Parent Darth Vader, Secret Relationship, Skywalker Family Drama, Skywalker Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverserocks/pseuds/lunaverserocks
Summary: It had never been a secret, but it had never been explained. Her adoption—her true parents. Who were they, and why was she left in Bail Organa’s care?Late one night, ten-year old Leia is determined to find out those answers. But when she and Artoo uncover a secret nobody wanted her to discover, she finds herself tumbling down a womp rat-sized hole of problems.The first of which, is an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Darth Vader
Comments: 156
Kudos: 415





	1. Sleepless Nights

It had never been a secret. But it had never been explained.

Adopted, they'd said. Born of two young and fearless individuals, impassioned in the midst of intergalactic turmoil. Individuals who'd ignored the ramifications of the worlds around them and instead looked to one another for guidance and focus. Individuals who, though bursting with love, eventually succumbed to the fate of the Clone Wars, when fear ran rampant and the Empire took its first fistful of power.

It was simple—a classic story shared by thousands of orphans across the galaxies—yet for ten-year-old Leia Organa, it felt so complicated.

Too complicated.

Her parents? Dead.

Her adoption? Finalized a few days after her birth.

Her childhood? Significantly better than most, but filled with questions she didn’t feel comfortable asking aloud...

How'd they die? When, exactly, were their fates sealed? Why'd they leave her in Bail and Breha Organa’s care? And, most importantly: _who were they_?

Leia frowned at the dimly-lit city underneath her bedroom balcony, then returned to the comfort of her plush bedsheets. She snuggled and squirmed until the queries pitter-puttering around her mind quieted, then sighed. It was almost a nightly routine, now; joining with her adoptive parents’ tradition of tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.

Questions.

Questions that were a constant reminder of things that could have been, had the Galactic Republic not fallen and allowed the Empire to take hold. A constant reminder of the life she could have had, had the Senate of old been more aware of the deadly trap consuming them. Of the childhood she could have lived, had—

“Starshine?”

Her bedroom door opened, and Leia closed her eyes, feigning sleep for what felt like the umpteenth time. She could feel the hall light creep across her face—a single ray of pure, artificial light in an otherwise dark room.

“Asleep,” she heard, disappointment clear.

“She’s getting too old, my love." Her father's voice. “Too old for bedtime kisses and well wishes. Too old for nightly tuck-ins.” A contemplative pause, then the sound of a light peck on her adoptive mother’s cheek. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

“But so soon? It seems like yesterday she was a babe in my arms…”

Their conversation continued, but receding footsteps drowned out the words.

Leia sighed. Again. Then opened her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling above her head—at the nothingness that oftentimes lulled her to sleep.

The inky blackness was calming and peaceful and blank at a time when her life was unusually chaotic, rigid, and filled with an airtight schedule of etiquette lessons, basic combat training, intergalactic language tutors, and practice political negotiations. With travels throughout the Empire and—

Those questions.

Leia sat upright, ripped the covers from her legs, and stepped out of bed. Then she made her way to the door and snuck beyond the confines of her room. To the halls, which were finally empty for the night. Barren. No servants, no politicians. No Artoo units or protocol droids. And no Mom or Dad to stop her ambitious curiosity.

She ambled to the living room and grabbed her favorite hologram projector. She flipped the toggle and found a comfortable spot on the sofa where she could watch her infantile self coo in her adoptive parents’ arms.

For a moment, she was happy and distracted and enamored with the swirling blue haze before her eyes. It was delightful, but so strange and foreign...

So she studied the hologram. First, her mother. Then, her father. And after staring at those faces—familiar faces she'd seen day after day grow older and older from the pressures of daily life—she wondered what those faces could’ve looked like had events turned out differently.

What they would have looked like had two other people survived.

Leia squinted, thinking.

Did she have her mother’s eyes or hair color? Did she have her father’s cheekbones or chin? Would they have shared the same interests or favorites like foods and colors?

She looked away from the hologram, forlorn.

Having been an infant, there was almost nothing to remember. Only a brief inkling that her mother was beautiful and kind, but strangely sad.

And her father?

Her face screwed in concentration.

Nothing. Not a memory of what he could've looked like nor a single thought about his character. Not the memory of his coarse clothes against her skin nor the pads of his thumbs caressing her cheek. Almost like she had never met him. Never once been coddled in his arms during her first few days of life. Never once seen the color of his irises or the wrinkles under his eyes. Never once felt his acknowledgement or love...

She hated that feeling. Hated that she didn’t have a picture to commemorate their memories or a name to search for on nights like tonight.

Annoyed, she stood and looked left, then right.

Like so many nights before, she headed for her parents’ private galactic database—down two flights of stairs and into the fourth room on the left—and when she got there, she plopped onto the most uncomfortable chair on Alderaan and pressed the power button for the main screen. It glittered grey for a moment, then turned black. And when the cursor blinked green, she started typing.

Frantically.

_Desperately._

Documents. Articles. First-hand accounts detailing every minute detail of every insignificant skirmish on land, sea, sky, or in space. She combed through countless lists of Clone War casualties, forever hopeful that something would stick out. That a few vowels or consonants would look familiar when jumbled in _just_ the right order. That they’d form the name of a place or a battle…

Or a person.

And while distracted with the ever-changing screen, Leia didn’t notice the door opening off to her right...

Or the machine whirling up beside her. _Whrrrrrrp._

Leia turned, startled, then frowned at the silvery-blue astromech droid.

“Artoo,” she huffed. “Shush up, okay? You know I’m not supposed to be in here.”

_Brrrrr boop beep._

“I know what time it is, silly. I just can’t sleep.”

_Whrrr._

“Yes, yes.” Leia waved at the droid, shooing it away. “ _Again._ ”

_Breep boop._

“Well I don’t know _why_ I can’t. I just…can’t. Now be quiet or go away. I’m looking for something.”

Artoo didn’t move. It just flashed its red eye and scanned the contents of her screen, then turned its head slightly counter-clockwise and looked at her. Looked _through_ her, as it often did.

_Beep boop beep._

Leia blinked, then exhaled. “I—I don’t know what I’m looking for. Just that I’m looking.”

_Breep breep._

“I know that wasn’t helpful. But I can’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand.”

_Whrrrrrrp._

“Because you’re a _droid._ You don’t have parents.”

_Boop boop._

“I know I have parents. But they’re not my biological ones. I want to know—” Leia frowned. “—I want to know about my _real_ parents. About my _birth_ mother and father.”

Artoo remained still for a while, then shook back and forth on its three legs, like it had an idea. _Burp burp._

“Seriously, Artoo?” Leia snapped, eyes rolling. “If I knew their names, do you think I’d spend my nights pouring over this stupid computer?”

The droid stopped rocking. _Brrrrr._

Leia flushed and bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She fumbled over her words. “I’m just exhausted. And looking at all of these lists—these planets, cities, and people… It’s— It’s depressing. So many places. So much death…”

She paused, and Artoo centered its weight on its central and left legs, then nudged her gently with one of its shoulders like it was comforting her.

Her voice came out soft and sad. “Do you think I’ll ever find them?”

Artoo righted itself but gave no response. No beep or flickering light. No bodily tilt or turn of its head. Just stillness.

“Yeah, I don’t think so either.”

There was an eerie silence, and Leia sank into her uncomfortable chair. She tried to hear something— _anything_ —but could only hear Artoo’s steady hum. So she let it fill the void in her ears and closed her eyes, wishing the soft sound could lull her to sleep. And just as she was about to drift off, Artoo shifted and rolled back and bounced off a large piece of machinery along the far wall with more force than it intended.

_Brrrrr-ur-brrrrr-ur-brrrrrr._

Leia eyed the droid and squinted. “That’s a bad idea, Artoo. A supernova-sized bad idea.”

_Brup brup._

“Of course I know what it is. I was there when it was installed.” She stood from her chair and walked over to the machine and kicked the front. “A thermocycler,” she said. “Just another way for the Empire to collect data on its less savory inhabitants.” She snorted. “A ridiculous violation of our citizen’s basic rights—a DNA collector.”

Artoo wheeled back and turned its body forward, stance questioning.

“What?” she said. “You think it’s right for the Empire to collect a DNA sample from every criminal, politician, ruler, and government worker, whether they want to give it or not?”

_Beep beep._

“I know you don’t have DNA. But does that make it any less right?”

_Wrrrrrrr._

“Well no, mine’s not in there. Not yet, at least. Not until I’m queen.”

_Reeeee-ruuuu._

“You want me to do _what_? Why?”

_Beep beep._

“Well that’s just stupid, Artoo. Seriously, horribly—” She blinked and made a face at the collector. She thought about how it contained data from individuals throughout the galaxy—digitized double-helix strands from so many distant places, so many different individuals. And maybe somewhere, somehow, one of those people could be related to her, even if it was a distant connection. “—brilliant.”

Artoo chirped and rolled away, leaving a wide berth, and Leia filled the space in an instant and plugged in a few directional commands. She paused once or twice, confused, but eventually powered through, using her technological savvy to bypass the normal opening sequences. And when it finally came time to press her thumb over the needled keypad, she took a breath and looked at her android companion.

“D’you really think this will work?”

Artoo wiggled.

Leia scowled. “Yeah, I don’t know, either.” She took another breath, this one deeper. “But here goes nothing.”

The minuscule prick only hurt for a moment, and after it was done, she pulled back her thumb, put it in her mouth, and sucked until the metallic taste faded away.

“I dunno, Artoo,” she said, watching the loading screen percentage climb, “this might’ve been a bad—”

_Ding!_

Data poured onto the screen. An undecipherable sequence—

Then a flashing line.

A _name_.

Leia almost squealed.

After so long—after so many sleepless nights wondering and searching—she might’ve finally uncovered a little piece of her lineage. A little more of the truth nobody was willing to discuss out loud. A little more information about who she was—about who she could’ve been.

But when she looked up and read the single flashing line, she couldn’t help but stare blankly at it.

_Maternal Match: Padmé Amidala_

“Well that can’t be right.” She hit the scanner. Once, twice, then thrice. “This machine must be defective or something.”

_Bleep blump._

“No, Artoo. You don’t understand.”

_Blurururur._

“Of course I know who she is, but that’s why this stupid machine is _wrong._ Dead wrong.”

Leia stared at the flashing line and read the name over and over— _Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala—_ and the more she read it, the more it left a sour taste in her mouth.

Mostly because of the woman’s fame—her skill in battle and negotiations, and the fact that she was one of Naboo’s youngest queens, and later, their senator. She was an infamous war hero who led countless expeditions, more times than not coming out victorious, and yet still, dead. Slaughtered by the Sith Lord, Darth Vader. Murdered, long before her time. Gone, when the galaxy needed her most.

_Padmé Amidala._

Beautiful, cunning, stubborn. Beloved, admired, and adored by all who met her. By all who happened to cross her path.

So different from her supposed daughter: a ten-year old girl still growing into her cheekbones, baby fat still dissolving and sliming the rounded edges of her face. Who occasionally struggled to remember the complicated names of foreign dignitaries, no matter how many times she practiced. Who was oftentimes described as stubborn to the point it was a negative quality, not positive. Who was only beloved, admired, and adored by her adoptive parents when she caused mischief throughout the palace.

_Boop boop._

Leia snorted, reverie broken. “Well that can’t be true,” she said, jaw setting in concentration. "We do _not_ look alike. And I’ll prove it to you.”

She walked to the computer and pulled up old holographic images. She zoomed in on the deceased senator’s face and stared, transfixed, at the growing number of similarities.

Brown hair and brown eyes. Light-toned skin and short bodily build. The resolved expression on her face and the way her lips creased _just_ so when Padmé’s hologram smiled—

Just like Leia’s did when she practiced greeting figureheads in front of the mirror.

“Nope. Nope.” Leia shook her head, frowned, and squinted. “See, Artoo,” she said, struggling to disagree, but doing it out of pure pigheadedness. “I look nothing like her.” She paused and considered more logical reasoning. “And besides, there could be a million people in the Empire who share my traits. A million people who could be related to me. Our stupid machine is broken. And that’s that.”

Artoo didn't beep or move, but its solitary eye glowed dark crimson the more it stared at Padmé’s holographic image.

_Brup bruuup._

“Artoo,” Leia collapsed the hologram and shut down the computer, “there’s no way she looks _just like you remember._ You’ve never _met_ her before; you must be thinking of somebody else.”

_Wurreeeeeeeep!_

“Hey! Shush up! Do you _want_ us to get caught in here?”

_Beep beep._

Leia smiled and put her hand on Artoo’s rotating top. “That’s more like it,” she said as she bit her bottom lip and walked out of the database, Artoo trundling at her heels.

They walked and rolled for a bit, and when they finally made it to her bedroom, Leia pursed her lips. “Mom and Dad can’t know,” she said.

_Wuuuuur._

“I’m serious, Artoo. If they found out what I did tonight, they’d probably get upset. So you can’t tell them, got it?”

_Wurp wurp._

Leia frowned at Artoo’s lackluster response. “You know what? I think you might need a checkup or something. You’ve been saying a lot of crazy things tonight, and that’s not normal. You should probably run a scan just to make sure you’re feeling okay.”

 _Wurggle wurrgle wurrgle._ Artoo’s head spun like it was insulted, then it backed away. _Breep boop boop._

“Well goodnight to you too,” Leia huffed as her bedroom door whooshed open and allowed her inside. She entered and the door swished closed, and when she was finally all alone, she collapsed onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes bleary but very much awake. Thoughts of her suspected maternal match—her suspected biological mother—clouded her mind. Distracted her from sleep once more.

She had to know—just had to keep searching...

So she dug out the handheld unit designed specifically for her schooling and read through everything the database had on Padmé Amidala.

Everything she could find...

On her mom.

**OoOoO**

The morning came quick—too quick.

Leia struggled throughout the day, distracted and tired and moping through the palace’s halls as she attended different classes and lessons specifically designed to prepare her for her upcoming coronation.

Her handpicked tutors had noticed her sluggishness with disappointed frowns on their faces and scowls upturned in horrible fashion until they all decided to dismiss her early. And now free, she roamed the palace’s many halls, searching for her parent’s personal apartment—

Until she heard something strange and approached with curious caution.

She neared, and the voices grew more defined.

Then she rounded another corner and heard everything very clearly. Too clearly.

An argument of sorts.

Her father, voice calm and steady, but obviously upset. And a strange, gasping retort.

Leia stopped, eyes wide.

She knew that gasping sound—had never experienced it personally, but had been told about it—and she continued her approach with heightened trepidation, ears attuned to the distinct, low-pitched voice of the Emperor’s favorite crony and apprentice: Darth Vader.

One fearful step, then another. And as she neared—as she tiptoed to a better location where she could eavesdrop and peek with ease—the Sith Lord stopped talking and breathed.

Once, twice, thrice.

Then, “I know you’re listening, youngling.”


	2. Fear to Flight

There was a finite supply of fear in the galaxy. A predetermined amount usually spread throughout an entire universe. But for one millisecond, every ounce that had ever existed poured into every fiber, muscle, and cell of Leia’s body.

And it had only taken one sentence.

Five little words, and she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t turn around, sprint to her bedroom, lock the door, and hide under her covers. Couldn’t plod arrogantly onward and ask for her father’s forgiveness or mutter a half-hearted apology to the Sith Lord for interrupting his duties.

Couldn’t do anything other than exist...

If she could even call it that.

“I sense your fear, youngling.” A breath, strangled and mechanic. Terrifying. “And that’s good.” Another breath. “Fear will make you strong.”

More words. More terror. And Leia’s heart skipped a beat. Then another.

Then her father’s voice, paternally confident but somewhat shaky: “Leia, if you’re there, sweetling, go to your room. I’ll be along shortly.”

There was desperation in his tone. Desperation and anxiety and an otherworldly, protective will that spoke volumes—danger. And Leia wanted to move, shuffle backward, and sprint through the halls...

But something unrecognizable pulled her forward.

One step.

Then another.

And another and another and another until she found herself inside the palace’s main chamber, between her father and an overlarge man clad head to toe in black, face obscured by a demonic, black-crystalline mask. Chest emblazoned with a medley of buttons, functions unknown.

Standing there, before one of the galaxy’s most feared entities, she couldn’t help but tremble. Fingers fidgeted, lips twitched, and eyes flicked back and forth, unsure where to look, unsure if she was _allowed_ to look. At Sith Lord Vader, at her father, even at the fashionably-decorated walls of her own home.

So she looked at the floor. Decided to take this particular moment to count each vein in the tiles underfoot. _One, two, three…_

“Leia.” Her father’s voice broke her concentration. “Sweetling, please go to—”

“One of yours, I presume?” A breath.

“Y-yes, Lord Vader. My daughter, Princess Leia.”

Leia looked up, up, up. Up so far until she got to Vader’s black-cloaked shoulders. Then up to peek at his face, where she noticed his unrelenting, insect-like and unblinking masked gaze. He did not turn away and refused to look elsewhere, and she flinched, eyes returning to the marbled veins on the floor. _One, two, three…_

Her father was at her side in an instant. He knelt and cupped her shoulder. Tight. Too tight.

Tight enough to make her panic, to make her think something was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. And Leia’s gaze flicked to him.

“Dad,” she whispered. Soft, so soft. “Why’s he here? What's he want?”

“Not sure, Sweetling. But I’m sure it’s something I can handle.” Another tight squeeze, this one less painful. More reassuring. Then a smile, very comforting. “Why don’t you run off and find Artoo? I’m sure both of you can get into plenty of mischief before dinner.”

“But Dad—”

“Run along, Leia.” Her father stood and adopted an authoritative stance, a commanding presence usually reserved for criminals and underlings. “ _Now_.”

With that, Leia fled. Down the hall and around the bend. Up two flights of stairs and into her room, where she pressed her back flat against the door. Her breath poured from her lips in rushed, uneven bursts, and she tried to steady it—

But then it happened.

She panted. Hyperventilated while thinking—knowing—what she’d just done.

“I just _left_ him there,” she said as she smacked her cheeks hard enough to leave red welts. “All alone and by himself. _All alone._ And _by himself._ ”

She whirled, trekked through the halls with a haste that left her bemused and breathless, tiptoed past guards, droids, and handmaids who were _not where they should’ve been,_ then pressed on, deep into the palace she knew so well—too well. Until—

The tapestry.

Leia pulled it away from the wall and pressed her fingers into a minuscule groove. Something _clicked_ , a panel opened, and Leia gagged.

There was...a smell.

The palace's secret passageways hadn't been used for centuries—since the time when servants, handmaids, and slaves were better unseen and unheard—and they looked it.

Cobwebs, insects, and rodents. Long-rotten corpses bursting with odors most foul as they permeated the surrounding air, then wafted up and beyond.

But Leia needed through.

So she covered her nose and swiped out her hand, then shoved through the menagerie until she reached her goal.

Then, she pushed.

The wall cracked open and revealed a slit-sized view of the palace’s main chamber, where her father and Vader were still talking. Tersely.

They stood less than four feet apart with one towering over the other. Neither one was surrounded by their usual entourage; no troopers or guards, no servants or lackeys. Just her father, fists and jaw clenched, looking up even though he was standing on a small set of stairs. And Vader, robotically still and intimidating, looking down; a beast of unrealistic proportions.

Just the two of them. Alone. Like both wanted their conversation to be strictly confidential. Secret. Completely private.

But Leia couldn’t help it. She eavesdropped. Broke her father’s trust.

To protect him, she told herself. To make sure he wouldn’t succumb to whatever vile plan Darth Vader had for him. To make sure he wouldn’t face a Sith Lord by himself. All alone, defenseless, and unaided at a time he should’ve been surrounded by his best guardsmen and protected on all sides, even if it ultimately wouldn’t help.

So she listened, knuckles whitening as she clasped the edges of the wall’s secret door.

“I need those records, Viceroy.”

“Like I said before,” her father said as he crossed his arms, “ _you may have them when you come back with the appropriate paperwork_. I’m _not_ giving you a copy of our security log without the appropriate clearances.”

There was a pause, intensity heightened with Vader’s mechanical respires.

Then, “Whoever accessed your thermocycler is vitally important to the Empire.”

Her father glared. “We haven’t used that wretched device since the first day, when your installation team demanded we enter our staff, politicians, and criminals.”

“Yet somebody did,” Vader said. “Just last night.”

Her father suppressed the surprise on his face with a fine-lipped scowl. “And why would you care?”

There was another lengthy pause. An edgy staring match that only ended when Vader finally answered. “Because the DNA entered maternally matched a very wanted individual. An individual suspected dead nearly a decade ago.” A breath. “The Empire wants this person for questioning. Immediately.”

Her father snorted. “And who is this person?”

One respiration, then another. “A direct relation to Padmé Amidala.”

Her father's usually tan face drained of color. “Th-that’s imposs—” He cleared his throat. “That’s impossible.”

“Yesterday, I believed the same thing. Today—”

“She _died_ , Lord Vader.” Her father’s face turned dark crimson. “Scared and alone and _pregnant._ She died.”

From her hidden passageway, Leia gasped and pressed her face closer to the slit. Her ears hurt from straining so hard, but the pain didn’t deter her focus. She bit her bottom lip and powered through, because they were talking about her—about her mother—and she needed to know, needed to understand, why Sith Lord Darth Vader, out of everybody in the galaxy, was asking about _her._ About Senator Amidala.

Leia continued watching—continued listening—and gulped.

Because for the first time, Vader moved. His helmet slanted down and to the right, and his mask tilted toward her direction, like he'd heard her stifled gasp. She hissed and Vader’s shoulders dipped. But almost immediately after, his posture returned. Head high and shoulders straight as he reached inside his cape and stopped, threat very clear.

“I need your recordings, Viceroy.”

“Well go get the appropriate paperwork from our _Emperor_ ,” her father spat. “Until then, consider your request wholeheartedly _denied._ ”

“You and I both know I can’t do that.”

“Exactly,” her father said. “Because this isn’t the _Empire’s_ inquiry. It’s _yours._ ”

Vader withdrew his arm from the innards of his cape, but his fist was unexpectedly empty. He pointed. “I _will_ get those records, Viceroy.”

“Over my dead body."

Vader’s hand loosened until his fingers were merely curled. “A poor choice of words,” he said as he reached for anything and everything.

Leia didn't understand what happened next.

Her father dropped to his knees and clutched his throat. He was choking, mouth gasping and eyes popping. Face turning blue as he sucked frantically for any semblance of air. His eyes watered and he reached forward, desperation stretched across his face. “P-please—”

Leia didn’t think. Didn't properly sort through the consequences of her actions. She just popped out of the wall, sprinted, and screamed, “LET HIM GO!” as she furled her fists at Vader’s armored chest, hitting as high as she could reach. And when her efforts proved fruitless, she clutched his cape and pulled as hard as she could until he looked down, concentration broken. Then she kept hitting, kept pulling. Kept screaming, “Let him go! Let him go! _Let him **go**_!”

Then—

An intense pressure on her shoulders. An unidentifiable force pushing her down and away.

She collapsed onto her back, breathless and panting. Eyes welling with tears but smiling since she'd been ultimately successful.

“ _Leia!_ ” her father screeched.

He rushed to her side and clenched tight around her waist, pulling, pulling, pulling until she was in his lap. She shook from the pressure of whatever held her. Trembled with the memory of being so helpless. Unable to move or breathe or blink or speak or think.

“An Organa if I ever saw one,” Vader said, insect-like eyes glossing over her flushed face. “Reckless and where she shouldn’t be.” His gaze shifted to to her father. “You should be proud.”

"He _is_ ,” Leia growled, struggling against her father’s grasp. Vader’s gaze returned. “And you’re a _jerk._ ” She wriggled—hard—and her father let go. She stood, and though her head only reached Vader’s waist, her hazels glared up at him. Angry, so spiteful. Filled with so much contempt. “And you should be _disgusted_ with yourself—”

“Leia!” her father screamed, reaching for her mouth.

She batted his hand away. “Choking my father because he denied you something—”

“Leia!” Her father tried again, but Leia stepped forward, closer to the Sith Lord and out of her father’s grasp.

Vader took an involuntary step back.

“And shoving _me,_ a _little girl_ , just because you didn’t get what you wanted. _Deplorable! Disgusting!_ A horrible abuse of whatever station you’ve managed to scrounge up!”

“ _Leia!”_

“And another thing—” She pointed at the Sith, face scrunched with rage. “Just who do you think you are? Coming to my home, demanding— _Urmph_!”

Her father finally succeeded, and Leia screamed through his fingers. But even though her words were loud, they were unintelligible, and she quieted, fuming. She didn’t stay still, though; she wiggled fervently and tried to break free as her gaze bounced between Vader and her father.

“Incorrigible,” Vader said after a silent moment, fists reflexively clenching. “And highly disrespectful. A—” He stopped and took a breath. Then another as his fists loosened. “Your eyes are…” Another breath as he drug out his next word. “… _familiar_.”

“Commonly brown,” her father said, letting go. Leia squirmed away from him, face flushed and arms crossed.

Vader stepped forward and knelt. He inhaled and reached out. Slow, so slow. And Leia didn’t flinch away, didn’t move a single muscle. Not because she was scared, but because she was angry. Filled with a form of malevolence she couldn’t explain.

And while she remained still, Vader placed one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Gently. More gently than she dare believed he could. His other hand cupped her chin. Tilted it left. Then right.

“And your face—”

“I’ll show you the blasted footage,” her father snapped. “Now get your hands _off my daughter._ ”

The heated moment intensified until Vader grudgingly let go. He didn’t look away, though; no, he continued scanning her entire body before resting his gaze on her face. “Let’s go,” he said after a fair bit of reflective silence.

Her father motioned for her to stay behind, but Vader grabbed his arm and squeezed. Hard. “ _All_ of us.”

“This is grievously irregular,” her father snarled, struggling to escape Vader’s grasp. “My daughter will stay where she is. She doesn’t need to be involved with this.”

“And yet,” Vader said, “she is.”

“ _My daughter_ will remain—”

 _"Is_ she yours, Viceroy?” A breath. “Truly yours?”

Her father blanched, then looked down and bit his tongue. “You’ll find all the proof you need within our security holos.” He took a step and looked back. “And after you’ve viewed them, I demand that you leave Alderaan. Immediately.”

Vader bypassed them like he already knew the palace’s layout. “The contents of your logs will determine my departure. Now come, you’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Leia followed the Sith Lord, eyes focused on the expanse of his billowing cape. And when they walked through areas of the palace teeming with people, she looked around and expected horrified expressions and fear-filled gasps.

She expected outright chaos.

But nobody moved.

Or noticed.

Or cried out, or trembled, or gulped.

It was almost like they were invisible. Eerily, horribly undetectable.

Nobody bothered her father for signatures or his vocal approval. Nobody chastised Leia for being out of her classes far too early. Nobody noticed the Sith Lord’s floor-shaking footsteps plodding unpleasantly forward.

“Um,” Leia said, reaching for her father’s hand. “Dad…?”

Fingers wound around hers. “A dark mind trick,” her father said, expression grim. “He doesn’t want to be seen.”

Leia’s gaze shifted, but her father didn’t look down. “How come?”

“Because he’s not supposed to be here. And he knows it.”

“Dad—”

“Shush, Starshine. We’ll talk later.”

The rest of the jaunt through the palace passed relatively quick, and even though it was a short trek, Leia noticed her father withering with each step. Face growing gaunt as the Sith Lord trudged through the palace without guidance or assistance. He didn’t even need top-level security passcodes when he entered the royal family’s private apartment. The doors and elevator shaft just opened at his gesture, letting him inside to wreak whatever havoc he desired.

It was impressive, galling, and terrifying all at once. Even as a minute display of his power.

And Leia wondered—just wondered—what he would do when he realized it was _her_ DNA that had prompted this whole exploit. _Her_ DNA he sought. _Her_ being the target of his queries.

She blinked.

Lying had never gotten her anywhere. Somebody always found out. Somebody was always watching or knew. And she realized that it was in her best interest to come clean.

Because maybe then, Vader would be less mad. Maybe then, he’d spare her and her father’s life.

She nodded, resolute.

“Dad—”

“Shush, Sweetling.”

“But Dad, I need to tell you—”

“ _Not now_.” He squished her fingers. Hard, so hard. Hard enough to make her wince and sputter, then drift into silence.

And while Leia was rendered speechless, miserable for keeping a secret that had caused so much strife, the door to the royal family’s private database whooshed open.

They walked inside, and a series of beeps told them they weren’t alone.

Her father let out a deeply-held breath. “Artoo,” he said, forcing the droid to shift its crimson eye away from the dark figure in the room, “could you open the security holos from last night?”

Artoo jolted forward, ready to act on the command. But the moment it passed her, it paused and stared at her as only it could. Leia stared back, face a wretched and identifiable mess. And after a second, Artoo careened to the side of the room where it could access the telecommunications port. It twisted the port left. Then right. _Blurp blurp._

“To the holopad, please,” her father said.

The circular pad in the middle of the room burst to life; it revealed fuzzy blue forms in the midst of private conversations, droids hobbling to and fro, servants performing their daily duties, and the royal family preparing for bed.

Vader immediately took command at the control panel. He turned a dial, and the fuzzy images blurred beyond recognition, fast-forwarding. He stopped when he got to the time he was looking for, then stared at the single blue person traipsing the halls.

Leia.

The living and breathing Leia could feel Vader’s glossy gaze through the projection’s blue haze, and she gulped, unnerved, until he looked away. Then she continued to stare at the damnable evidence.

Her blue form waltzed to the living room and sat. It gazed lovingly at a well-worn holoprojection and sat there for minutes, silent and contemplative. And just when Leia—the real Leia, the one watching from behind the tears welling in her eyes—knew she would get up and tread lightly to the database—

She didn’t.

Instead, a fuzzy, blue Artoo rolled forward, chittering at her, and she responded in kind. “ _Not yet, silly droid_.”

Artoo’s image bleeped at her.

“ _I can’t sleep.”_

Another beep.

_“Stop keeping track of my sleeping patterns. It’s unsettling.”_

Vader fast-forwarded the conversation to the point where she and Artoo got up, then watched pointedly as Leia’s fuzzy form drifted down the hall—the wrong hall.

“There must be more,” Vader said, turning the dial and speeding through the remainder of the recording.

“Afraid not,” her father said after the images morphed into the present.

Vader collapsed the hologram and pointed a threatening finger. “Somebody accessed your scanner last night, Viceroy.”

“Perhaps we were hacked?” A shrug. “I hear the Rebel forces are gleaning significant information from databases across the Empire.”

“Gleaning, yes. But _inserting_ information?”

Her father cocked his head. “I’m afraid that line of questioning is beyond me. I have no idea what the Rebels want, nor do I care. Alderaan is a peaceful place. We don't get involved in unnecessary wars. Now,” he turned to Artoo, “Artoo, could you make sure Leia gets to her room while I escort Lord Vader off our lovely planet.”

_Weereeeeee!_

“Thank you.” Her father stepped toward the door and gestured. “After you, Lord Vader.”

With that, Darth Vader disappeared into the hall.

Leia followed, but stopped at the doorway. Her father continued down the hall, but she remained behind, staring at Vader's back. Focusing on the sinewy black cloak clapping furiously against a pair of polished boots.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Couldn’t take her eyes off the man who'd murdered her mother and high-tailed it across the galaxy the moment a semblance of said woman’s DNA resurfaced.

_Padmé Amidala._

Why was Vader so keen to find a direct relation? And why did he care? What more could he want from a corpse? Or from her?

And to travel so far and return empty-handed. To leave without argument, without another word.

Especially after examining her closely. Tilting her head just so and resting his hand against her shoulder, uncharacteristically gentle.

It made her uneasy. Horribly, irrevocably uneasy.

And curious.

Vader and her father disappeared beyond a corner, and Artoo beeped. It ripped her from her thoughts.

“Thank you for changing the footage,” Leia said, biting her lip. “You really saved me back there.”

Artoo chirped, then rotated its head and started rolling down the hall. _Blururuuuur._

 _“_ No way, Artoo. We’re not going to my room.”

Artoo stopped and turned back around. _Blick blurk bleep?_

The droid’s question was so simple— _Where are we going?_ —but so hard to explain. And after a lot of careful thought, Leia nodded, knowing exactly where she needed to go. Knowing exactly what she needed to do.

Because, she concluded, taking one step forward, if nobody else would tell her about Padmé after nearly a decade of asking—even non-verbally—maybe...

Well, maybe _he_ would.

_Blick blurk bleep?_

Artoo repeated its question, and Leia looked at her oldest companion. “ _I’m_ going to the hanger. _You’re_ going to my room.”

_Wer weeeeeee!_

“I’m serious, Artoo. I’ve got to do something, and I’ve got to do it now before I lose my only chance.”

_Blerp bleep?_

“I’ll tell you later, when I get back.” Leia pushed a panel on a nearby wall; it popped out, and she held her nose, disgusted with another wretched smell. She entered and turned back around. “For now, I need you to stay behind and keep Dad distracted. Can you do that?”

The droid wiggled back and forth, then chirped.

“Excellent,” Leia said. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

**OoOoO**

It was a bad idea. A horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad idea.

But she was going to do it anyway.

Leia bit her bottom lip and scanned the hanger, eyes peeking atop a multicolored variety of supply barrels.

She mouthed a curse.

The coast wasn’t as clear as she would’ve liked. There were two of her father’s armored guards standing watch by the shuttle’s lift, then two more on either side of the hanger’s main door, blasters at the ready and alert. Prepared for whatever command her mother or father decided to unleash, even if it meant their deaths.

And even though it was her own people guarding the Sith’s ship, she knew she’d never get past. Not without a decent distraction.

So she cursed again, slumped against the barrels, and mumbled incoherently until she heard it.

The telltale beeps of a droid.

 _Familiar_ beeps.

Leia peeked above the barrels and smiled at the astromech pitter-puttering across the hanger floor, toward the nearest pair of guards. Another droid was tailing it, stumbling unnaturally forward with one golden arm raised like it was in the midst of an argument.

“Artoo,” Threepio said, gaining ground as its cohort rolled to a stop, “this is against protocol.”

_Bleep blurp wurggle._

Threepio gasped. “Oh! Such foul language. You really should get your chips checked.” Threepio paused and looked around with its white-shaded eyes. “Now, why have you brought us to the hanger?"

“We’d like to know that, too,” a guard said as he approached, holstering his blaster. “Under strict orders, nobody’s supposed to be here right now.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Droids included.”

Artoo frantically beeped out a curious story as another guard approached. Threepio stared, bewildered, then began relaying the information.

“My friend says that Princess Leia is causing trouble again. And that this time—oh my!” Threepio leaned forward. “Are you sure?” Artoo beeped and Threepio’s gaze returned to the pair of guards. “And that this time, she’s in _mortal danger_!”

The guards turned, regarded each other, then looked at Artoo. “You serious?”

_Bleep blurp bleeeeeeep! Whurgle whurgle whurgle._

“Okay, okay. _Sheesh._ There’s no reason to get your wires in such a twist. We’ll check it out the moment Vader’s gone.”

_Weeeee wruuuuuu!_

“Okay, _okay_. We’re going, we’re going.” The leader of the four-man team hailed the remaining two guards over, then they disappeared into the hall as a squared unit, footsteps clanging against the metal floors.

Threepio trailed after them, shouting, “This way, this way!” even though he was significantly behind.

And when everybody was long gone, Leia stood from her hiding place. Artoo chirped.

“Artoo,” she whispered, watching it warily, “what’re you up to?”

_Blerurur._

“Helping me?” She frowned. “Well I don’t need your help, you silly droid. I’m perfectly capable of doing this by myself.”

_Werweeeeeee!_

Leia scoffed. “I would’a got past them! You didn’t even give me a _chance_!” She folded her arms and stepped onto the incline of Vader’s shuttle.

_Bleep bleep._

“No way, Artoo. You’re _not_ coming along. You’re staying here, remember? Somebody’s got to keep Dad distracted.”

_Blur weee._

“Threepio can’t—”

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made her tremble.

Vader was coming. Quickly, too.

She bolted up the ramp with Artoo at her heels.

She couldn’t argue with the droid anymore, so she shoved it into a utility closet and crawled in beside it, silently cursing its near-constant chitter.

“Shush up, Artoo. You’re going to get us caught.”

_Bleep blurp blerururur._

“This is _not_ a terrible idea.” She hit the droid. Hard. Hard enough for the sound to resonate and hurt her hand. Then she hissed. “He knew her, Artoo. Knew all about her. So maybe if I tag along and get him alone, he’ll tell me what he knows. Ya know, _without_ Mom or Dad getting in the way this time.”

_Whurrrg ururrrrg ururrrrg._

“Ugh. Stop _saying_ that. This is foolproof—not terrible.” She rolled her eyes. “And we’re not gonna die.”

_Weer weeeee!_

“Well you didn’t _have_ to come along! I would’ve been fine by myself.”

_Bleep bleep blepp._

_“_ Keep it up and I’ll scrap you the moment we get back. Mark my words, Artoo. Mark my words.” Leia shoved the droid into the closet wall. “Now _move._ You’re crushing my ankle.”

_Bleep blurp bleep._

“Apology _not_ accepted.” She paused as heavy footsteps reverberated through the steel floor. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. “Now shush up; for real this time.”

The footsteps got loud, then stopped. And for a moment, Leia expected the door to whoosh open. She anticipated being drug from the closet, kicking and screaming as Vader’s menacing, vice-like grip clutched her collar and shoved her out.

But when the footsteps suddenly receded, she let out a breath.

She felt the shuttle stir and lift. And then, just like that, she was leaving Alderaan.

In Sith Lord Darth Vader’s ship.


	3. Steps and Phases Make the Best Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy an extra long chapter for your patience and understanding.

Leia scrambled for the handprint-sized viewport on the closet’s far wall. She stared—transfixed—as Alderaan’s mountainous terrain morphed, shrunk, flattened, and faded into the cloudy horizon. Then the planet as a whole grew small and round, then disappeared in a fit of blurs, indistinguishable from the other worlds, stars, and asteroids as they whirred past.

The closet grew cold and somewhat damp, and Leia pressed herself against Artoo’s warm, humming canister. She breathed deep, finding comfort in the droid’s familiar heat and steady purr, and waited.

It felt like hours. It felt like days. But it couldn’t've been more than a few minutes.

Twenty, at most.

But with each passing second—with each system strobing across the small, crouch-level viewport—Leia only had one thing on her mind.

Her parents.

Her birth mother. Her birth father. And, most importantly…

Bail and Breha Organa.

The beings who’d raised her. Who'd given her a home, entrusted her with a crown, and cherished her, without question. Beings who'd be undoubtedly worried—maybe even _horrified_ —upon discovering her inconveniently-timed absence.

And she suddenly felt guilty.

Horribly, irreversibly guilty.

She should’ve left them a note. A hologram message. An utterance to a nondescript droid. _Anything_ to let them know she’d be back soon—after she got answers, of course. After she found out more about Padmé Amidala, the woman she inarguably resembled. The woman who was—without a doubt—her biological mother.

But she hadn’t had time.

Though, for a second, she wondered if telling them would’ve even mattered.

She couldn’t explain it, but she had a sinking, jittering feeling in the pit of her stomach; it was telling her that she wouldn’t see her adoptive parents—or Alderaan, for that matter—for a while. A long, long while. And she struggled with that thought. Struggled with the strangeness of not seeing her mom or dad’s happy, loving faces across the dinner table; struggled with the uncomfortableness of not hearing their playful banter as they discussed the finer details of their day. Struggled with the absence—the knowledge that she wouldn’t feel their warm fingers or lips as they hugged and kissed her goodnight.

And she cringed, unsure if what she was doing was _right._ Unsure if leaving Alderaan was good or bad or somewhere in between...

But if it got her the answers she desperately desired, it’d all be worth it...

Right?

Leia frowned and pressed her forehead against the viewport’s reinforced glass. The galaxy's cold steadily crept inside, offering no parlay until it nearly suffocated her. And just when it got unbearable, she recoiled and pressed her shoulders against Artoo’s warm frame again, where she nuzzled close. She smelled— _felt_ —the familiarity of her best friend, and was immensely grateful for its companionship.

Motor oil. Burnt rubber. Artoo's smell repulsed others, but Leia'd always thought it comforting, familiar, and a curious reminder of her childhood, when she used to clutch onto its spinning top until it nearly overheated as they terrorized the palace’s many halls, hurdled into priceless artifacts, and bothered anybody with a seemingly important task. Then there were the memories where she was elbow-deep in its canister, cleaning or repairing one of its many internal parts and doodads.

Altogether, Artoo smelled like home. Like the best parts of Alderaan. And as she reminisced, she thought about the droid’s many concerns: how it considered her mission a terrible idea that would result in their—or more likely, _her_ —death.

And for a very brief moment, she wondered if Artoo was right.

Vader had traversed the entire galaxy to locate a single DNA relation to a long-dead woman. And when he’d seen her—when he’d knelt in front of her and twisted her face left, then right, holding her chin so, _so_ gently—what did he see? What did he want? Why was he so desperate to find a maternal match to a decade-old corpse? And—most importantly—what would he do when he realized she'd stowed away on his Imperial ship? What would he do when she suddenly popped out of her closet and started barraging him with a menagerie of queries about her biological mother?

Would he get violent? Would he tear her to pieces? Would he kill her the same way he had…

Her mom?

Leia blinked and imagined her death. There were a thousand different ways her life could end, right there, right then. Limbs torn from their sockets, an invisible entity clenching her throat, a bolt through the stomach—through her heart…through her _head._

Popping out of the closet, assaulting Vader with questions...

It was probably…best…not to do that.

Yeah…definitely not.

Leia blinked and squinted at the blurs illuminating the small closet she wasn’t going to pop out of anytime soon, and wondered if Artoo’s concerns were more than just preprogrammed responses to danger.

What if Artoo was right?

What if she was headed to her doom? What if— What if—

 _I’ll be fine,_ she told herself. She’d always been fine—would always _be_ fine. Felt it— _knew_ it—deep in her gut, where her instincts lived. Where they festered and burrowed and occasionally whispered sweet-sounding words of encouragement ( _do this, not that; listen; wait; watch)._ And they’d never been wrong before. Had never once failed.

So she believed them. Wholeheartedly and without question. And took a breath, encouraging and refreshing.

Then she felt it, and her encouraging breath morphed into a stifled gasp.

The shuttle rattled and exited hyperspace with a jolt. It went through a series of melodious beeps and whirs, then quieted. It slowed and dropped, then shifted slightly when it settled within the hangar. There were more beeps—the sounds the powering down sequence—and then—

Nothing.

No footsteps. No mechanical respires. No radioed orders or grating sounds that usually meant the ramp was descending.

Nothing.

So Leia held her breath...and waited.

Thirty seconds. Thirty-five seconds. Forty.

Then—

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

Leia scrambled onto her feet at the sound of those loud and fast footsteps. They barreled closer and closer as she righted herself, each clomp vibrating the floor in an unsettling rhythm until they cryptically disappeared altogether—

Right outside the closet’s door.

Leia swallowed nervous bile and leaned against the steel frame. She pressed all her weight into it to steady herself, then reached up to activate the access panel. But the moment fingers brushed a single key, they curled into her hand, trembling. Then the whole appendage flopped lifelessly against her side.

She took a single step back and stared at the door, wide-eyed and unable to explain why she couldn’t do it. Why she couldn’t confront the Sith Lord who'd probably known she was hiding in his ship’s closet all along.

Was she scared? Anxious? Or did she not have the strength or confidence—the wherewithal or self-assurance—that years of royal training had ingrained into her psyche.

She stared, unable to move.

Unable to breathe.

The door remained closed, and the silence was debilitating. And just when she thought it would finally whoosh open, just when she thought her heart would explode inside her chest with anticipation, the ship rattled—the ramp was finally descending—and the footsteps continued. _Thunk, thunk, thunk._ Until they were gone, altogether.

Leia waited again. Thirty seconds. Thirty-five seconds. Forty.

And when nothing made a sound, she exhaled, smashed her forehead against the steel door, and banged it with a frustrated utterance, “Stupid, stupid, _stupid."_ Then she collapsed into Artoo with a frustrated snarl when her head ached just as bad as her breathless chest.

_Vrrrp wrrrrp._

Artoo shuffled forward and pushed her onto her feet.

“Thanks, buddy.”

 _Bleep blurp._ Artoo’s red eye glittered in the darkened closet and focused on her. Looked at her as it often did. _Blurp blurp, whurrgle._

Leia snorted. “Well _of course_ I have a plan. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past few hours?”

_Blurp blurp?_

“Well…” Leia’s face flushed crimson. “Well, there’re steps, you see. And phases.”

Artoo said nothing to that, and Leia gave it a look.

“Those are crucial, you know. Steps and phases make the best plans.”

Again, nothing. And again, another look.

Leia bit her bottom lip and thought. “So step one was the most important—get onto the ship. And we _excelled_ at that.” A wry smile, then a frown. Suddenly serious. “Then there’s step two…get out of the closet. And step three…figure out where we are. And finally, step four: navigate our way to Lord Vader.”

_Blurp blurp?_

“Well, from there…” Leia trailed off and shrugged.

_Breep blum. Whurrrr._

Leia’s jaw dropped. “ _Language,_ ” she said as she poked her best friend. “I’m an impressionable young mind. You can’t just spew those words out like they’re nothing.”

_Wurggle whurg—_

“I _know_ it’s not a good plan. But that doesn’t mean we’re not doing this.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Sometimes the best plans are the ones made on the fly. So—” She elbowed Artoo, lurched forward, pressed her palm against the backlit panel, and waited. Then she frowned when nothing happened and pressed it again, more aggressive. _“—we’re doing this,_ ” she finished through gritted teeth.

Artoo _wurggled,_ and Leia whirled and scoffed, “Well, you don’t _have_ to help if you don’t want.”

_Bleep bleep._

“Well _good.”_ She turned around and pressed her palm against the panel. Again. “Now that _that’s_ covered…” It did nothing, and she hit it with a clenched fist. And when the door still didn’t budge, she frowned some more and cursed at the steel, demanding it to whoosh open. Immediately.

And when it didn’t, she turned.

_Weer weeee!_

Leia grimaced and sighed, then put on her best princess face—the one people always ogled and said _aren’t you sweet_ at. “So step two,” she said with a nervous smile, “is _slightly_ more complicated than originally anticipated.”

_Bleep bleep._

Droidspeak had never sounded so sarcastic, and Leia’s smile faltered. “Yeah, so…” She poked the door and sighed. Again. “I’m going to need your help. Just this once, I promise,” she bargained. “Then afterword, you’re free to remain inside the closet for the rest of our mission.”

Artoo was silent for a long while, then squeaked and chittered. _Blurk blick?_

“Well, if we can get this panel off, you can probably get in there and do what you do best.”

_Blurggle blurg?_

_“And what’s that?”_ Leia gasped. “It’s like you swapped personality chips with Threepio behind my back or something. Seriously, Artoo…open the door.”

_Blick blurk wurggle blurg._

_“But it’s safer in here?”_ Leia put her fists on her hips, leaned forward, and looked at the droid in its crimson eye. Then she deepened her stare when it looked back. “We’re not _safer_ in here. We could _die_ in here.” She paused, considered, then leaned back and frowned. “Well, _I_ could die in here. You’ll just go into low power mode until somebody needs a broom.”

_Blurggle blurg._

“Well it wasn’t _supposed_ to be funny. It’s the truth.”

Artoo remained still, and Leia hit the door. Again. Then she leaned against it and exhaled, loud and slow.

“If you didn’t want to help, then why’d you come along?”

_Boop boop._

Leia deadpanned. “You miss traveling? Well, you silly droid, look around and fall in love, because this scenery is downright _glamorous.”_ She pointed, and Artoo’s top spun, following her finger. “Here’s a wall.” Another point. “And here’s a wall. And here’s a wall. And here’s a _door.”_ She snorted. “Too bad it won’t open, though, because I bet there’d be _more_ places to travel to _slightly_ beyond it.”

Artoo’s crimson eye morphed blue as it inspected its surroundings. It looked at every little detail—every bolt and screw—and puttered forward. It extended one spider-like, mechanical arm from its canister, then another, and tore off the panel with its sliver-sized stick fingers. It welded, severed, and twisted wires together, and when it was finally satisfied, it backed away.

Leia scrambled around the droid and stared, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for something to happen—anything to happen. And when nothing did, she frowned.

“Artoo?” Her voice was sweet. Angelic. Then a growl, “ _Why didn’t it work?”_

_Wurweeeee!_

_“It should’ve worked?!_ Well, yeah! I guessed as much. Now figure out why it _didn’t.”_

Artoo _blick blick_ -ed and rolled toward the panel once more. It inspected its progress, welded a few more wires, and chirped excitedly about how complicated its task was while it worked.

Leia, meanwhile, leaned back against the door and tap, tap, tapped her fingers against the cold, drab surface. She huffed after a few uneventful minutes, bored out of her mind and ready to get out, until—

Something shuffled on the other side of the door.

“Artoo,” Leia whispered, holding her index finger to lips.

Artoo stopped welding and twisting wires, and waited.

And in the silence, Leia _swore_ she heard someone cursing. But it was so faint and so far away that she couldn’t make out anything other than _oh no_ and _oh my_ and _that’ll never do_. And it sounded so _familiar_ but she couldn’t figure out _why,_ especially when it was so muffled.

Then the voice very clearly said _ah-ha!_ and—

The door opened, and—

Leia fell backwards in a heap, butt, back, and head smashing against the floor of the shuttle’s main compartment. She scrambled onto her feet as fast as she could and brushed off her backside with a few dignified swipes, swearing as Artoo rolled out of the closet.

She snarled at the astromech, “A warning would’ve been nice.”

But Artoo wasn’t paying attention. Instead it said, _Wer-wooo!_ and skittered past her, toward the golden-platted droid a few footsteps away.

“Threepio!” Leia ran forward. “What’re you doing here?”

Threepio’s mechanical joints whirred as it spun its arms. “I haven’t the slightest idea _what_ I’m doing here or _how_ I got here. But I heard your voice, young princess, and decided to help.”

Leia smiled. “Well good thing you did, because Artoo couldn’t get us out.”

Immediately, Artoo went on a tirade, admonishing Leia’s choice of words and phrasing. _Verp verp…Blurggle blurg…Whurggle wrug._

Threepio responded when appropriate, saying, “Well of course you couldn’t get out, Artoo. It was hard-wired to be accessed via the exterior, only. And oh, Artoo! How complicated it was to break that code! If I hadn’t picked up a few code-breaking tricks from the Maker, you’d _still_ be in there…”

The droids continued, but Leia didn't pay attention. Instead, she crawled over the side of the ramp and peered out as quick as she could. Then she tried again, stood, and righted herself.

“Nobody’s out there,” she said, face scrunching, confused. “And I can’t tell if we’re on a ship or a planet, but I’m guessing ship because I didn’t see anything organic.”

“Oh!” Threepio said, taking a few steps. “I could’ve told you that, Princess. I’ve been wandering around this hanger for quite some time now.”

Leia said nothing to that and instead looked at Artoo, expression a challenge. “So, are you ready?”

Artoo didn’t reply, which was curious, and instead rolled down the ramp.

Leia followed and peered around as they descended, making sure they were truly alone. And when she realized Threepio was right and there weren’t any guards, troopers, engineers, or droids, she relaxed. Nobody was around—nobody was there—and they walked through the hangar like they owned the place, with Artoo heading directly to the unguarded control port by the main exit.

They paused so the astromech could access the ship’s mainframe. And while it was silently working, Threepio rocked.

“Don’t be so nervous, Threepio,” Leia said. “Maybe the closet’ll be our only obstacle.”

Her voice held hope, but Threepio hesitated. “Oh, I very much doubt that.”

“Well, if Artoo can’t figure out how to get me to Vader—”

“ _Goodness!_ ” Threepio careened backward. “Vader!? As in _Darth_ Vader? Nobody told me _anything_ about Lord Vader!”

“—then I’ll steal some armor and search for him myself.”

Threepio didn’t ask for clarification. Instead, it said, “Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?”

Leia huffed.

Artoo wiggled with droidian laughter and retracted its probe. _Blur blurp._

“Sweet.” Artoo puttered forward, knowing the way, and Leia smirked. “Let’s get going then.”

“Oh.” Threepio shuffled its polished feet. “This is a bad idea. A very bad idea…”

**OoOoO**

They walked for a while without seeing a single sentient being or droid, but that didn’t mean they weren’t cautious. Leia poked her head around every corner, checked every monitor, and stopped for every minor noise, just to be sure they wouldn’t get caught.

She thrust her head around one more corner and immediately whirled. She took a breath, pressed her back into the grey wall, scuffled her feet, hissed, and took a moment.

“Is something wrong, Princess?”

Leia nodded, and Threepio twitched. She took another quick glance and pouted.

There were…a lot of troopers in the next hall. _A lot,_ a lot.

Some with blasters at the ready or in holsters; others carrying datapads, tools, and various pieces of equipment. And though they all looked busy, they’d all instantly notice a ten-year old girl, protocol droid, and astromech traipsing past. And they’d look. Stare. No matter how mind-numbingly boring their tasks appeared.

Leia grimaced.

She was caught—they were caught. And they hadn’t even made it halfway to their target.

So she took a breath, cleared her mind, and thought. Then nodded after a solid minute.

“Okay,” she said, straightening her posture. Threepio did the same. “There are a lot of troopers around this corner. Like _a lot_ , a lot.” She paused and bit her lip. “I have a plan, but it’ll only work if we all look the part.”

_Blurp blurp?_

She looked at Artoo, then back to Threepio because the golden-tinted protocol droid tended to be their biggest problem. It was a horrible liar and always tried to talk itself out of her and Artoo’s antics. _Tried_ , was key, because it usually failed. Or got so flustered that it caused _them_ to fail.

So she stared at its hazy optical sensors. Stared _hard._

“Well, Dad says that if you look important and busy, nobody’ll bother you.” She looked skyward and took another calming breath. She pressed her fingers into her dress and forced it to flatten under slight pressure, then took one confident step. Then another—into the hall. She tilted her chin up and slightly to the left, and kept her gaze focused straight ahead, beyond the cluster blocking her path. If one of her tutors saw her, they would’ve been proud. “So follow my lead and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

Leia walked. Artoo rolled. Threepio…shuffled.

Leia did her best to act like a proper princess. Like she belonged. But though she tried her best, people noticed their entrance. They watched their gait and direction, looked at Leia’s clothes and poise, stared at the out-of-date droids lagging slightly behind. A few troopers turned their heads and whispered to whoever was nearby. An ensign or two pointed.

But Leia didn’t care. As long as nobody stopped them, her plan was a success.

They got about halfway down the hall before an officer noticed them and moved into Leia’s path.

Said officer was human, and looked...unpleasant. His light-skinned face was youthful, but carved with disappointment, like somebody'd destroyed all of his wonder and whimsy, and gifted him grief and stress and more responsibilities than he could manage. He had brown eyes and brown hair speckled with the same shade of grey as his uniform, which was clean and pressed with nary a splotch to mar its perfect presentation. His chest was emblazoned with a myriad of red and blue buttons that denoted his rank, and he quickened her pace when Leia hastened hers.

He was right in her path, and Leia tried to maneuver around him, but then he was in her path— _again_ —with an even nastier expression on his face. And when he was less than ten steps away, he looked down on her and sneered. Four steps away, and he reached down to grab her arm.

But Leia glared at him with all the intensity that she could muster, and his thinning eyebrows twitched. He pulled his hand back, and before he could get a word out, Leia barked, “ _Move_.” And he _did_.

He blinked as she passed, and when he finally recovered, he said, “You— Miss!”

Threepio tuned with a swish and said, “ _Princess—”_

“Not _now,_ Threepio,” Leia hissed between her teeth.

Threepio turned and quieted, and Leia kept walking. She could hear the man grumble about something, then he opened his mouth and said, “ _Princess—”_

“If you’re in need of information,” Leia huffed without turning around, “I suggest you run to catch up. I have a schedule to keep, and I won't have you tying me up without decent cause.”

The officer didn’t move for a few moments. Leia imagined his mouth open, jaw loose and unsure before it snapped closed. She heard his boots pitter-patter across the metal floor, and when he was finally at her side, he looked down on her and continued to sneer with one eyebrow creasing into his ever-enlarging forehead, face an easily readable map of confusion, curiosity, and rage. Clearly, he wasn’t used to back-talk. Especially from a child.

“Princess—”

“I’m in a bit of a rush and already a little late, so please keep your queries brief,” Leia said.

She frowned at the officer, then quickened her pace.

She didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what to do other than keep up her charade. If she continued to stalk the halls with purpose, maybe he’d leave her alone.

Eventually.

_Maybe._

The officer looked her up and down as he jogged to catch up, and Leia struggled to keep her twitches at bay. His frown grew and grew until it practically cracked his face in two, and then he scurried a step or two ahead, turned, and cut her off completely.

Leia glared as Artoo and Threepio skidded to a halt. Her plan had been a longshot, but it’d been worth a try.

“Princess—”

“Leia Organa,” she supplied, crossing her arms. “Of Alderaan.”

“Ah, Princess Leia—”

“You’d better have a reasonable explanation for this interruption. I have a very important meeting to get to. And as I already said, I’m already late.”

The other people in the hall were watching the spectacle with growing interest—some more obvious than others—and the officer gave a brief bow before righting himself.

Leia couldn’t help but formulate a plan while the curious ensigns’ smiles lengthened. She could…use this officer. Use him to navigate the ship without interruption. Get him to accompany her through the halls so she didn’t look so horribly out of place. And when she finally got to her target, safe and sound, she’d ditch him with a heartwarming _thank you,_ get her answers, and bolt before anybody knew what had happened…

So, she smiled.

He kept _frowning._ “Princess—”

“I suppose you’d know the layout of this ship.”

The officer looked downright _baffled_ at her statement, so she pointed to his chest; he looked down and stared at the red and blue buttons like it was the first time he’d noticed them there, then nodded.

“Well, yes—”

“Excellent,” Leia said with another tutor-approved grin. “You’d probably have a decent shortcut or two. These warships always throw me off, and I can never remember which way to turn. And my droids are only so helpful—especially when these crafts are always being modified and retrofitted with the most recent tech…” She trailed off. Smiled harder.

When he said nothing, Leia kept going. “It'd be extraordinarily helpful if I had a guide to help me reach my destination. I’d really appreciate it, what with my age and task, and the fact that I’m already desperately behind schedule because people keep stopping me…”

“O-of course,” the officer said. He blinked. “It would be my pleasure. Where is your destination?”

“Sublevel 4, room 23-13.”

The officer’s face paled—he recognized the room number, apparently. But without argument, he turned about-face and lead the way.

They walked in silence for a minute or two, made it to the lifts, and started going up. They walked out and headed down a hall, then two, and when the officer couldn’t hold it in any longer, he blurted, “Your meeting is with Lord Vader.”

Leia nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I ask…what about?”

Leia shook her head and said the quickest lie she could think of. “It’s top secret, actually. So, no.”

His eyebrows skyrocketed. “And you’re from Alderaan.” More statement than question, so she didn’t acknowledge it. “Isn’t Alderaan peaceful?”

Leia paused and nodded and said the most logical thing that popped into her head. “Very much so. And I’d like to keep it that way. That’s why my mother and father sent me on this mission.”

“So you’re here as a diplomatic envoy?”

The man was just _filled_ with questions.

“Precisely.”

The officer quieted but didn’t look comforted, and Leia didn’t want to press him, but something told her that she should. So she did. “Is this…irregular?”

“Very much so,” he said in a single exasperated exhale. “And I apologize for my ignorance, but Lord Vader often keeps his exploits to himself. Had I known a diplomat of your caliber was headed our way, I would’ve made appropriate accommodations with my superiors.”

Leia shrugged. “Things happen…” She twirled a finger, silently asking for the man’s name.

“Piett,” he said, stopping. “Firmus Piett.”

Piett extended his hand, and Leia took it and shook. He grinned with professional politeness, and she smiled.

“Well, Mister Piett—” The edges of Piett’s lips twitched up higher. “I’m actually delighted things happened this way. You’ve been very helpful, and I doubt others in your position would’ve been as cordial. It took me _forever_ to get to where I was and—” Leia caught the number above the door. “—look at that, we’re already here.”

Piett looked up like he hadn’t noticed and nodded. Then _paled._ “Would you like me to accompany you inside?”

Leia shook her head. “I should be okay. But thank you for offering.”

Piett’s face regained some color as he nodded one final time. Then he bounced away as quick as he could, never looking back at the ten-year old, protocol droid, and astromech he left behind.

“Well,” Leia said quietly to Artoo and Threepio, eyes attuned to the steel in front of her, “here goes nothing…”

She stepped forward, and the door whooshed open. She poked her head inside, then frowned.

The room—Vader’s main chamber—was empty. No human or droid. Barely a decoration or adornment of any kind splattered the walls. Only a desk overladen with datapads, a work table piled with metal fragments, an uncomfortable-looking couch that looked like it'd never been used, and an expansive window with a glorious view of the stars stuck out from the drab, grey walls.

Leia frowned harder, then waved her hand to let her companions know it was safe. They walked or rolled inside together, every step careful. Every step thought completely through. They barely made a noise—besides a faint beep from Artoo which told them there was a large heat signature in the next room—and proceeded with caution.

Suddenly, things got _loud._ Somebody was shouting—somebody was mad. And whoever was screaming was right behind the next door, spewing out words in a rushed, uncoordinated rhythm.

Leia stepped closer and closer to the creased steel, tiptoeing as quiet as she could—

Until she recognized a voice and hastened her pace.

She knelt by the door’s crease and pressed her ear to it, then frowned and wished she could open the steel without somebody noticing. Because she _knew_ that voice; had heard it on a fair number of occasions when her antics were too dangerous or bold. When she— _fairly,_ she’d admit—deserved admonition for her actions or decisions.

Artoo wiggled around her and accessed the control port. And then, just like that, the door slithered open.

Slightly.

She could _see._ And there, in the middle of the room as a flickering blue form, was her father, Bail Organa. And he was _screaming._

“Where _is_ she, Vader?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Vader was standing in front of the communications port. His tone was startlingly calm and collected, albeit slightly perturbed—even through his respirator.

“Don’t lie to me,” her father snapped. “Don’t you _dare_ lie to me. Not about this. Not about Leia.”

There was…a pause, and Leia used the opportunity to step closer, press her cheek against the door, and scoot against it so she could poke an eye through the slit. And when she saw Darth Vader with his thumbs hooked into his belt, arguing with the projection of her adoptive father, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about the situation.

Mostly because her father’s hologram was hunched over the display, face a wretched mess of wrinkles and worry, clothes disheveled and caked with a bit of mud and broken twigs. He looked like a picture-perfect map of fear and exhaustion, like a father who’d spent the last few hours searching relentlessly for his missing child, only to come up empty-handed.

Frankly, he looked desperate.

“I wouldn’t call you if I wasn’t sure—if I wasn’t _absolutely_ positive she wasn’t on Alderaan,” her father said, face morphing into an unusual, uncharacteristic snarl. “So that leaves _you.”_

Vader didn’t shift or fidget under the accusation, just stood there like the mechanical monolith he most definitely was. “Your _Leia_ isn’t with me.”

“Well she for damn sure isn’t here!”

Vader unhooked his thumbs and pointed, then curled his fingers, threat very clear. “It’s in your best interest to watch your tongue, Viceroy.”

Her father faltered, face contorting unpleasantly as he processed Vader’s warning. Then, he spoke. “I…apologize for my misstep. But please understand a father’s worry. My daughter is _missing,”_ he said, tone more calm but still anxious. “And I’ve checked the entire palace—every room, every secret passageway, every garden—and all the surrounding buildings.” He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck. “She doesn’t usually disappear like this—doesn’t usually leave the palace without letting somebody know where she’s going or what she’s doing. And nobody’s seen her for a few hours.”

Her father straightened. “So I’m left with you. And your ship.”

Vader’s hand fell. “And you believe she could stow away on my ship without me knowing?”

A shrug. “My daughter is incredibly resourceful.”

“And a little girl.”

Her father’s posture shifted again. He suddenly morphed into the strict politician he usually was. “Never underestimate a little girl, Lord Vader. Especially _that_ one.”

Vader said nothing for a moment or two. Then, finally, “I’ll issue a warrant for her seizure. If she’s here, she’ll be found—”

“ _Unharmed,”_ her father interrupted.

“—and put directly into my custody until I deem it appropriate to return to Alderaan.”

Her father faltered. “Th-that’s not necessary, Lord Vader. I can send a pair of droids for her. I have a protocol droid and an astromech who are well-equipped to handle such tasks, and they’re familiar with my daughter and have done so before, and—”

“Unacceptable,” Vader said.

“Then I’ll come—”

“Unacceptable.”

Her father paused, eyes narrowing. “You’re not seriously going to imprison her for this, are you? She’s a little girl. She doesn’t know—”

“If she’s as resourceful as you claim, then she’s knowledgeable enough to understand the ramifications of her actions. And if your assumptions are correct, she deliberately boarded an Imperial craft for reasons unknown. That, in and of itself, is a crude violation. And if she’s caught collecting intelligence or administering sabotage for—”

“ _She’s a little girl!”_

“—the Rebellion, then she’ll be treated appropriately.”

Her father’s mouth fell open, but no words escaped his lips. Then a flurry of them poured out, each one growing more and more violent, more and more frustrated. “You think she’s working with the _Rebellion?_ Like some sort of _twisted_ _child-soldier_? _She’s ten!”_

Vader lurched forward and loomed dangerously over the projection. And even though her father wasn’t physically there, he backed up a bit. Vader continued, “Though you might claim it’s peaceful, Alderaan isn’t wholeheartedly clean in this war, Viceroy.”

A pause. Then her father’s blue face grew visibly enraged. “I don’t have a clue—”

“Your name, in particular, has sprung up on a few occasions—”

“—what you’re talking about.” A blink. “And even if I were to entertain such an accusation, if you think I’d subject my _daughter—”_

“So I’ll keep your child close—”

“—to that nonsense, then you are _horribly mistaken—”_

“—and consider her insurance, wherein her life is payment for your future misdeeds.” Vader crossed his arms.

“You _can’t—”_

“I most certainly can. And will.”

“You’ll hold _my daughter—the Princess of Alderaan_ —hostage because of a few unscrupulous Rebel murmurings?”

Vader’s helmet tilted. “Again, I ask,” he said, tone clipped, “ _is she yours? Truly?”_

Her father staggered backward, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists. “Leia is adopted, but that doesn’t make her any less an Organa. She’s my daughter, and I love her without question.” He took a step forward, regaining himself. “And though Alderaan has remained peaceful in the past, we can take up arms at a moment’s notice.”

“Is that a threat?”

Bail Organa squared his shoulders, glared, and reached forward. And with a crackle, he disappeared.

Leia simply stared at the empty space in front of Vader’s still form. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe what she’d heard or seen. Her father was…desperate. And angry. And frightened. And upset. And willing to go to war—to put Alderaan and its millions of inhabitants—in serious jeopardy, all because…

Of her.

She gulped.

Her mission was selfish—downright dangerous in more ways than one—and she needed to return home, look at her mother and father, and tell them she was fine. That she’d never leave their sight again if that was what they wanted. That she’d messed up and understand if they could never trust her again.

She needed to leave. _Now._

And as she started to wiggle toward the opposite door—with Threepio and Artoo whirring or shuffling behind her—Vader’s rage rang loud and clear through the other room.

_Smash!_

The sound of a computer or two being pummeled and destroyed beyond repair. Then, “ _Find her.”_

There was a flurry of feet. Soldiers and officers suddenly scurried out of the room, frantic to get away from the Sith Lord’s fury, and Leia paused and pressed herself tight against the wall, hoping and praying that nobody would see her as they fled. When nobody did, she scooted onto the floor and sat eerily still, knowing she couldn’t escape when there were so many people traipsing the halls.

She held her breath, stared at the opposite door, and wished for all of the troopers and officers to disappear. Wished for them to dash two, three—no, _four_ —floors away so she could start her escape attempt.

She waited for their footsteps to die down, waited for their anxious prattle to cease. Waited for that little voice in her heart to tell her it was the right time to scamper back to the hangar before anybody could find her.

The breath she was holding burned her lungs and throat, so she started counting to occupy her time. Fifty seconds. Sixty seconds. Sixty-five.

Then, “I know you’re listening, youngling.”

Leia _panicked._ She forgot to exhale, and her face turned blue, and when she struggled to see clearly, the door she'd been peering through opened the whole way and revealed a durasteel-clad Darth Vader, helmeted gaze affixed to her own. Unblinking. Unmerciful.

He reached out, grasping for nothing and everything all at the same time, and she swiped at him, unsure of what he wanted other than _her in chains like a nefarious Rebel,_ and then—

_Vrrp vrrrrrp!_

Artoo whizzed beyond her petrified form, dome top targeted at Vader’s legs. It aimed and struck true, and Vader grunted and lurched awkwardly forward.

There was a flurry of violent beeps and mechanical respires, and Leia stared— _horrified_ —as her best friend was lifted helplessly into the air before it was hurled to the other side of Vader’s control room, where it smashed against an already-destroyed row of monitors with a sickening _crunch._

“ _Artoo!”_

Leia ducked under Vader’s legs and pushed aside his cloak. She sprinted toward her oldest companion, hoping and praying it wasn’t destroyed. She skidded and knelt—inspecting the damage before her body stopped surging forward—then felt a hand grip her shoulder and rip her back. _Hard._

She pried and struggled, and after a few unsuccessful escape attempts, the hand recoiled and something _invisible_ clamped around her entire midsection, forcing her to flail harder and _harder,_ but to no avail.

Then, she found herself staring into Vader’s red-tinted eye coverings, and she couldn’t help but fidget.

“Hello there.” Her voice was strangled but strangely still intelligible, and she gulped, unsure how to proceed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, all. I went through a little bit of writers block and wrote this chapter over and over and over again, never satisfied. Until this past weekend. I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> In the next chapter, the fun begins.


	4. Space Wizard Powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...um...don't have a valid excuse for how long it's been, except...I, um--
> 
> Oh look! A new chapter! :D

She’d been levitating for _hours_.

Well. Maybe not hours; it was probably seconds, but it felt longer. Especially when there was nothing but Vader’s steady and annoying _kssh-kosh_ amid their mutual silence.

Then—

“This is incredibly uncomfortable,” Leia said as she tried and failed to wriggle out of his invisible and unrelenting hold for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Surprisingly, the hold lessened. Barely. But it was something, and Leia’s frightened and frustrated glower morphed into something more normal.

Then, more silence and _kssh-kosh_ es until—

“You should’ve stayed in the ship.”

Leia couldn’t help it. Her mouth fell open and her eyebrows skyrocketed. There was only one thought racing through her head, and she couldn’t stop it when it slipped out: “You _knew_?”

He said nothing, but didn’t have to, because _of course_ he knew.

The closet hadn’t been locked before she’d crawled in, and he’d stopped by it both when he’d boarded and disembarked, so he _had_ to have heard or sensed her erratic heartbeat or breathing. But instead of opening the door and chastising or arresting her, he’d _locked_ it. And if Threepio hadn’t come along, they would’ve still been in there, undoubtedly pounding and screaming until somebody happened to stroll by.

Not that anybody _would_ stroll by, since the hangar had been—

Well. That explained why the hangar’d been empty. Why the halls weren’t bustling with troopers, guards, or officers until they’d gotten further along. How everything’d been so _easy_ until…

Now.

He’d known.

Probably from the start. Probably before she’d even decided to stow away on his ship.

Stupid space wizard powers…

But…if he’d known, why’d he _let her_? If he was just going to get violent or imprison her, why bother if he’d known before they left Alderaan?

He could’ve simply grabbed her by her collar, ratted her out, and demanded an apology (which she would only give if absolutely necessary), recompense (which would’ve upset her mother), or unyielding loyalty (which would’ve further upset her father).

Leia blinked while Vader stared, silent.

Did this…? Did this have something to do with the conversation she’d just overheard? Those Rebel connections Vader’d accused her father of—even though they were clearly wrong? Was this all to get leverage? To get Alderaan back into line, even though her home planet and adoptive parents hadn’t done anything against the Empire’s or Emperor’s will?

Leia wasn’t privy to all Organa secrets, but she’d bet her left boot she’d know about potential Rebel connections. So—

That couldn’t be it.

Which meant there was something else, something she was missing. And her instincts told her it had something to do with her biological mother—Padmé Amidala—and Vader’s critical analysis of her eyes and face when they’d been on Alderaan.

So…

“Why—?”

“How’d you escape?”

Leia scowled, then glanced at Artoo’s hunched and unmoving casing.

Vader peered left, then something akin to a snort escaped his mask. “Impossible,” he said. “Artoo couldn’t’ve found an appropriate work-around. I hard-wired it to be accessed via the exterior, only.”

Leia’s gaze fell onto Threepio, who’d remained alarmingly still and quiet since Vader’d tossed Artoo across the room with nary an effort.

Vader’s mask tilted. “Of course,” he said, like he knew what’d happened without even being there. Like he hadn’t just asked. “Together, those two always manage to get in the way.”

Leia remained silent at that. She didn’t know what to say nor how to react, so she kept quiet and mulled on his words. How they were phrased. What they’d meant.

There was only one logical conclusion: Vader’d seen Artoo and Threepio before—had probably even met them on more than one occasion, since his artificial tone sounded so…frustrated.

But that was…odd.

Because Artoo and Threepio had been around since her birth. And as far as she knew, that was ten full years of being nigh inseparable, wherein they only parted with her for etiquette classes, school, or if her father had an unusual task that required one of the droidian duo’s many useful skillsets.

But even then, Threepio was terrified of danger and avoided it whenever it sprung its ugly head, and Vader _screamed_ danger from the tip of his polished helmet to the bottom of his durasteel-lined boots.

So, when had they met?

And, more importantly, _why_ had they met?

“You were powered down,” Vader said as he shifted away from her and regarded Threepio. “Explain.”

Threepio didn’t. Instead, it turned its sights on her and waited for permission. Leia nodded, and Threepio said, “Princess Leia has an awful habit of turning me off whenever I prove…difficult.”

That wasn’t how she would’ve described it. No, she would’ve said Threepio had an awful habit of tattling on her when she was about to do something _fun_. And after the third time of getting in trouble _before_ she should’ve, she’d learned how to hack into Threepio’s system and shut it up.

“So Master Bail installed an override that allows me to auto-reboot after an hour.”

True. And annoying since she couldn’t figure out how to bypass the override after multiple failed attempts.

Vader clenched a fist, then two. “The trip from Alderaan took four hours.”

Threepio didn’t hesitate. “When I woke and discovered my location, I thought it best to remain still.”

Leia smiled. When they finally escaped Vader’s clutches, she was going to give that golden-plated pain-in-the-butt a hug.

Vader didn’t like Threepio’s answer. He hissed, “ _Why_?”

“My responsibilities include keeping the princess safe,” Threepio said as it turned its optical sensors toward her. “And before I was unexpectedly shut down, I knew she was someplace she shouldn’t be.” It paused. “And when I woke, I calculated an uncomfortably high probably that she was somewhere nearby.”

Leia’s smile grew. Threepio was going to get a hug _and_ an oil bath when they got home.

“So when I left, you—”

“Went investigating, of course,” Threepio said, unabashed.

Vader turned to her, and even though she couldn’t see his glower, it felt…heavy. “So you escaped and made your way here.” The glare somehow got heavier. “ _How_?”

Leia shrugged. “Dad told you already: I’m incredibly resourcef— Ow!”

Vader’s invisible hold suddenly increased tenfold. It made her gasp and wheeze before something…happened. Then it all stopped and she fell to the floor in an uncoordinated heap.

Leia looked up, and—

Vader was _there_ , much too close and pointing.

“That man, whoever he claims to be, is _not_ your—” He didn’t continue, and instead took a step back, recalibrated, and mocked, “What _resources_ did you utilize?”

“Common sense,” Leia immediately said…which wasn’t the right answer when Vader’s glare became nearly combustable. “Luck.” Which was just as bad, apparently, since he took a thunderous step and growled. “And a really helpful officer.”

“ _Name_.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand, and Leia wasn’t used to those, so she pursed her lips and shook her head. Then it dawned on her: she’d travelled lightyears for answers, and so far, she’d been on the wrong side of the spectrum.

It was time to change that.

“Why’d you go to Alderaan?”

Vader said nothing, and Leia could live with that. She already knew, so she’d tell him.

“You said it was because you’d discovered a connection to Padmé Amidala.”

Again, Vader said nothing. And again, he didn’t need to. Except—

The room suddenly felt cold, and Leia had to square her shoulders and focus to keep her teeth from chattering.

“I want to know why you want this,” she paused before she outed herself, “person, whoever it may be.”

“ _Name_.”

He could ignore her query all he wanted, but he couldn’t ignore it forever. She’d get an answer—eventually—because she was unnaturally stubborn, and—

Was that a trait she’d inherited from her mother?

“Why do you want this person?” she asked, gritting her teeth against the room’s ever-growing chill.

“ ** _Name_**.”

“Piett.” It was out before she could stop it, and she wanted to take it back, except— “Firmus Piett.”

Vader flipped a toggle on his chest and barked, “Firmus Piett. Sublevel 2, room 14-5. _Now_ ,” as Leia clapped her hands over her mouth.

How’d that happen?

She could be tight-lipped when she wanted to be, and she’d certainly _wanted_ to be since she didn’t want Mister Piett to get into trouble, but his name had somehow slipped out anyway.

Could Vader—? Could he _do_ that?

Something niggled in the back of her head—a reply of sorts: yes—and she squirmed. She’d already wanted to abandon her cause, but now she _really_ wanted to leave, answers be kriffed, and yet—

She stood up. Stayed still.

“If you won’t explain why you want…that person, could you tell me why I’m here? You knew,” she said as she bore into his red-tinted lenses. “You knew I was in that closet, so you purposefully brought me along and held me prisoner. So, why’d you do it? Why’m I here?”

There was silence. Then, “You are my quarry. Stop denying it.”

Leia stared, and though she didn’t want to ask in front of Vader: “Threepio, what’s a…quarry?”

Threepio raised a single arm and index finger. “It’s usually a giant hole where one can extract raw materials.” That didn’t sound right. “But in this case, it’s prey pursued by a hunter.”

That sounded…right. Scary, but right. And she would tell him, eventually, _maybe_ , but before she could, she needed to know and say: “Only when you answer me.”

He didn’t, and probably never would, until—

A garbled sound; a sigh or whisper, perhaps, then, “You’re a child. Ten, at most.”

Leia crossed her arms. “Ten and a half rotations, actually.”

That half rotation was important. To her, at least. And though people usually chuckled or patted her head when she pointed it out, Vader did neither and instead remained stoic and terrifying.

But, strangely, something felt…different.

“You’re a child,” he said again.

Leia harrumphed. She hated it when people pointed that out. Yes, she was technically ten—a _child_ —but she’d had more schooling and responsibilities than most of the people she happened to meet. So much more, in fact, that two foreign diplomats who’d come from short-statured, youth-faced planets had confused her for Alderaan’s Queen, which her mother _still_ brought up when she was in a particularly jovial mood.

But this wasn’t a cute accident that could be settled with an introduction over tea and memorialized every time her mother sipped oolong. This was a messy situation wherein Sith Lord Darth Vader had her captive.

But, she realized, if he considered her a child, maybe she’d receive leniency…or mercy.

“I _am_ a child,” Leia admitted with a scowl. “But I’m a child with questions. Lotsa them.”

“And you will get answers,” he said. “In time. But until then—” He grabbed her arm with an uncomfortable, vice-like grip, then dragged her toward the hall door. “—you are needed elsewhere.”

Leia tried to dig in her heels and fight against him, but the durasteel floor proved troublesome and unyielding, so she yanked on Vader’s cape until he dropped his gaze.

“Am I under arrest?” she asked as he pulled, because it was what he said he’d do when he found her.

But once again, he didn’t answer, so she did the most childish thing she could think of, and—

“Artoo! Artoo, wake up! Wake up _now_!”

But Artoo did not, and Threepio frantically ran forward until the door whooshed closed, screaming, “Princess!”

**OoOoO**

She felt vulnerable without Artoo and Threepio.

Vulnerable, alone, and…confused.

Because Vader’d drug her through a series of long and winding halls, then into a lift, then down another series of what looked like the same halls, until—

“Lemme go! Lemme go! Lemme— Hey!”

He plopped her into a seat and pushed it forward until her tummy squished tight against the edge of a table. She went to push herself away, but he was there to shove her back in.

“Stay,” he said with a threatening point.

She most certainly would _not_. Until—

She smelled it. Saw it.

Food.

So much food it practically filled up a three-foot radius before her immovable chair.

Leia blinked.

It was a colorful display overtop a drab tabletop, and she didn’t understand, and went to say as much. “How—? Why—?” Until she realized she’d spent their entire journey from sublevel 4 to 2 screaming, while he’d pointedly ignored her and barked orders into the contraption on his chest.

Well. At least she knew what he’d been doing in lieu of listening to her eardrum-bursting and totally reasonable demands.

But…it was odd. Captors didn’t usually give their prisoners smorgasbords.

Right?

Maybe her assumptions were wrong, because Vader grabbed a plate and loaded a variety of delicacies onto it. Then he dropped it in front of her and said, “Children are always hungry. Eat.”

Leia didn’t.

She’d seen more than her fair share of pirate-themed holodramas; and in each of them, when the goody-goody-two-shoes hero got captured and given rations, it was always— _always_ —poisoned, tampered with, or a sly gesture to get something else.

Usually information.

But she didn’t have anything he’d find valuable, and didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him, so she pushed the plate away. “Not until you eat, first.”

“Impossible,” he said.

That was…cryptic.

“How come?”

“ _Eat_.”

The plate slid to the place where Vader’d originally dropped it—without either of them touching it—and Leia pushed back her chair and whirled. “Not until you start answering me.”

Vader remained silent, so Leia kept going. “Why’m I here?”

He grabbed the back of her chair and leaned forward. “Yes,” he said. “Why _are_ you here?”

Leia narrowed her eyes.

 _Fine_. If he wanted her to admit it, she would. “I…I want to find out everything I can about Padmé Amidala.” She looked into his mask and steadied herself. “Because the Empire’s records are…” Choppy, lacking, edited. “…incomplete, and—”

It was her first time declaring her maternal lineage, and it felt both bizarre and invigorating.

“And?”

“She’s my mother. My…my _real_ mother.”

There was nothing for a while. No movement, no utterances, barely a breath beyond Vader’s steady and methodical _kssh-koshes._ Then Leia twitched, sat, and ogled the plate Vader’d prepared.

She huffed. “So whaddya gonna do with me? Back home, you said you had questions. What are they?”

Vader was quiet for a moment longer. Then he leaned forward—close, too close—and asked, “Where is she?”

Leia stared.

Was he…joking?

He didn’t do or say anything when she gave him an odd look, but he had to be joking because Padmé Amidala’s current whereabouts were available for the whole curious galaxy to see in the Empire’s public database; she hadn’t moved for nearly a decade, because—

“She’s in a mausoleum on Naboo.”

Vader pointed. “Do not spew lies, youngling. You _will_ tell me the truth. All of it.”

“But—”

But that _was_ the truth. At least, according to the brief overview of Naboo she’d covered in class and the holodocs she’d read the night before.

And if those were fibs…

Well.

Somebody had some explaining to do. Lots of it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Leia said. “The mausoleum—that’s all I know.”

Vader didn’t back away or lower his finger. Instead, four other digits spread out and hovered near her head. Then he did something that felt strangely…invasive and said, “That is all you know.”

Leia shrunk away from his glove; it felt claustrophobic and weird, and she didn’t like it. “I _told_ you—”

“So where did you come from?”

Again—was he joking? Because she came from the same place all children came from—

“From…my mother.”

Vader wasn’t appeased. “Yes. But _how_?”

Leia scowled.

If he was going to keep questioning the very foundations of procreation, she’d explain. Slowly.

“Alright. So it starts with a male and a female—”

“Stop.”

“And I asked Mom once, and she said they don’t have to love each other, but claimed it was more common that way—“

“Enough.”

“So the male usually has a… _thing_ of sorts, but it varies on the species, and he—”

“ _Silence_.”

Leia quieted, but only did so because she heard a loud _crack_.

She located the source—a crystal globe holding an amber-colored liquid—before it completely shattered and drenched the table.

Slivers of glass should’ve littered every elaborate dish nearby, but they didn’t. Instead, they hung in midair, still and unnatural, and Leia lurched backward, both bewildered and terrified, because—

Was that another Dark trick?

Probably, because the slivers suddenly swept out and down, then disappeared underneath the table, far, far away.

Leia frowned.

So. Vader’s space wizard powers…

He could walk through halls without people noticing; mercilessly grab things without actually touching them; levitate whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted (including her and Artoo); get information out of people through unintended spurts and weird hand gestures; and break anything he pleased, without being close.

That was—

“The briefest glimpse of my power.”

Leia added telepathy to her list, and shifted her frown into a scowl.

“All I want,” she said in a slow huff, “is information about my biological mother.”

Vader shifted. “I did not realize the holonet eliminated her biography.”

“It didn’t,” she snapped. “And I’ve read it. Twice. But it doesn’t tell me what I want to know.”

Leia couldn’t see it behind his red-tinted lenses, but she could feel his glare. Again. “Everything you need to know is public knowledge.”

“But it’s not,” she argued as she ducked her head and wrung her tunic with two shaking hands. “Her biography just says what she _did_ , and…and I want to know who she _was_. Ya know…the person _beyond_ the queen and senator.”

Vader said nothing while he retreated to the viewport. He widened his stance, crossed his arms, and stared at the stars. “You could’ve gotten that information from Organa.”

 _Could_ she have gotten that information from her father? She very much doubted it, because—

“If he wanted to tell me, he would’ve by now.” She dropped her tunic and looked at Vader’s cape. “Right?”

Vader’s respirator rasped for three complete cycles until, “So you boarded my shuttle with the expectation that I could give you the details you seek.”

“I…um…guess?” It sounded more like a question than an answer, and Leia shook her head. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s just…”

Vader turned, and somehow, Leia could tell he was intrigued. It must’ve been another Dark trick, and she added it to her list.

“It’s just…” she paused again. “You seemed so—” Desperate, frantic, anxious for even the smallest connection; and if Leia said _any_ of that, she had a feeling she’d see a wrath akin to what her father’d received. So instead, “— _interested_ in finding a connection to her.”

She bit her lip. “Like your quest was…personal. Like you knew her. Like…more than somebody usually would. And I thought… I thought you did, so—” She spread her arms. “Here I am.”

“Yes.” Even though Vader’s vocorder didn’t have the ability to change its tone, he sounded…amused. “Here you are.”

“So.” Leia pushed out her chair…and it pushed itself back in. She let out an annoyed breath, tried again, received the same result, and gave up. She frowned. “ _Did_ you? Did you know my mother?”

Vader took a series of steps, stooped overtop her, and—

The door whooshed opened, and a man ran inside and bowed. “Lord Vader! I—”

“Mister Piett!” Leia squirmed in her chair that refused to budge, then wrenched awkwardly and painfully to the side so she could get a proper glimpse of the officer as he glanced down and paled to a deathly pallor.

Piett opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then he straightened, saluted, and gave a curt nod. “Lord Vader,” he said with a strangely composed, albeit ghostly, countenance.

“Lieutenant Firmus Piett.” Vader didn’t revert from his stoop or direct his gaze to Piett’s general direction, and Leia blinked because—

She finally knew her first bit of the Empire’s silly button language.

Piett wasn’t just a mister—as she should’ve guessed—but a lieutenant, which meant…

Well. It didn’t mean much to her, because she didn’t know the first thing about military ranks or their responsibilities. But if somebody asked her the duties of each royal family member on Alderaan, she could splatter four twelve-foot walls with them. Handedly.

“Explain.” Vader pointed at her, and Leia swiped at his ridiculously large glove because it was doing that…invasive thing again, and she liked it about as much as she did the first time.

Which meant she very much _didn’t_.

But Vader didn’t seem to care even though he could clearly read her very loud thoughts of, _Stop doing that. I don’t like it. Stop doing that. It’s rude. Stop doing that. It’s creepy. Stop—_

“She’s a diplomatic envoy, sir,” Piett said with that odd, professional composition.

It was what she’d told him, and it wasn’t fair when Vader said, “You’re a fool.”

Piett’s mouth didn’t open to rebuke, but Leia’s did. “Hey! That’s—!”

Mean. She was going to say _mean_ , but couldn’t because something unseeable clamped _over her mouth_ while Vader said, “Alderaan wouldn’t send a child for any diplomatic capacity.”

 _That’s not fair. Naboo has a youth legislative program._ Which she’d learned about while reading her mother’s biography. _How’s he supposed to know which planet has young delegates or not._

Those were fair observations, but Vader didn’t acknowledge them even though he was definitely listening, which she could tell…somehow. And Leia really wished she had a _sliver_ of Vader’s strange powers, because maybe she could project her thoughts into Piett’s head so he’d have some sort of a valid excuse.

But Piett didn’t offer an explanation, and instead remained quiet and somber. He didn’t even budge when Vader’s glower and glove shifted to him, which was weird. Like he was expecting something. Like he knew—

Piett made an abnormal, guttural sound, then clenched his throat with a trembling hand. Leia whipped her head around so quick, she was sure her neck could’ve snapped…like—

Like Piett’s most definitely was.

 _LET HIM GO!_ She couldn’t scream it aloud, but she could certainly scream it in her head.

Vader was still listening— _he had to be_ —because he waved at her with the hand that wasn’t committing invisible murder and forced her to look out the viewport and toward the stars; because _that_ made what he was doing less wrong.

_He didn’t do anything! Stop hurting him!_

Vader didn’t, and Leia imagined Piett’s face turning a fatal shade of blue then purple as the sound of his gasps intensified.

 _If anything, you should be rewarding him! He led me to you!_ Because that seemed to be Vader’s goal all along, strangely enough. _And_ _I_ ** _like_** _him!_ She didn’t think that would matter—because nothing else seemed to—but apparently—

It did.

Piett’s struggles morphed into a fit of coughs. Then he fell forward—something Leia could hear rather than see—and sucked in one strangled wheeze. There was the clap of two palms hitting the steel floor and a variety of refreshing-sounding deep pulls of air, then—

“I do not offer second chances,” Vader said, which was stupid because Piett hadn’t done anything _wrong_. “So consider yourself lucky, Lieutenant.”

If Piett wouldn’t, Leia certainly would; especially when Vader released every invisible hold he had on her and allowed her to scoot out her chair.

She ran to Piett and knelt. “Are you okay?”

She went to rub soothing circles against his back like her father used to do when she wasn’t feeling well, but couldn’t when Piett scrambled onto his feet and stretched out his collar.

Leia could only imagine how tight his uniform probably felt.

Piett’s gaze fell to her after he righted himself; he offered a half-smile and rasped, “I’m—”

_BOOM! BOOM! SKEEESH!_

The room shook and tilted, and Leia careened forward and backward until Piett grabbed her shoulders and steadied her.

She grabbed ahold of his arm when another series of quakes racked through the floor, then screeched, “What was _that_?!”

“Confirmation of Organa’s treachery,” Vader said with a hint of amused malice.

Leia looked at him. “What does that mean?”

Vader didn’t answer, but didn’t need to, because—

A trio of X-wings swamped the viewport and splattered red bolts along the grey-green deflector shield.

“Rebels?!”

It wasn’t possible or necessarily a question, but Piett answered, “Yes, Princess.”

“ _Lord Vader._ ” Vader’s chest plate was speaking, but Leia couldn’t pay any attention to it. Her eyes and ears were affixed and attuned onto the viewport as an uncountable number of TIE fighters swarmed around the X-wing trio to engage.

Red and green bolts wizzed in every direction; some hit the shield, some disappeared into space, some hit the X-wing trio, and a rare few pummeled one TIE until it exploded in a red, flameless vortex.

“Woah.” Leia was ripped back from the viewport she’d somehow neared and was tossed into the chair she’d abandoned. She wriggled but couldn’t budge. “Hey!”

“Stay.” Vader was pointing again. “Eat. Be good.”

It wasn’t befit a young princess, but Leia crinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue.

Vader’s glove neared. “ _Be good._ ”

Leia snorted. It wasn’t like she had any other choice or any other place to be while a dogfight raged outside.

Vader must’ve read her mind—stupid, _stupid_ space wizard powers—and lowered his hand. Then he ordered Piett to return to the station he’d abandoned, walked away, wiggled a cylinder into the door control, and left.

Leia sprang out of her chair the moment she could, then ran to the door. She jammed her hand over the control and sneered.

“Locked.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Star Wars fic. Please be gentle.


End file.
